I am sitting in my Victorian townhouse in south London wearing a cashmere bonnet. The lights are dimmed, the candles are flickering, and I am sipping at a glass of port, Charles Dickens’s favourite tipple. In my satin Vivienne Westwood corset and ruffled blouse, I could be a Dickensian heroine – perhaps David Copperfield’s Dora Spenlow (after all, we share a name).
Why have I found myself here, embracing Victoriana, yet simultaneously huddled over my laptop in the dark of night? The truth is I’m roaming around the virtual world of Charles Dickens, playing thrill-packed The Mysteries of Gad’s Hill Place. It’s the hottest game since Grand Theft Auto – just replace luxed-out supercars with horse-drawn carriages.
Haven’t you heard? Among the Gen Z social set, Dickens is dope. ‘Of course I’m a Dickens fan,’ says It girl Allegra Handelsman. ‘Great Expectations is my favourite. A bit basic, IKR.’ (‘I know, right?’ for the unfamiliar.) It boy, model and poet Sonny Hall’s style icon is Oliver Twist’s Artful Dodger – note his ruffled shirts and tartan scarves, not to mention the tattoo of the top-hat-wearing Dodger emblazoned across his chest. Then there’s Tish Weinstock: for her ‘black-tie gothic’ wedding at Belvoir Castle last year, the socialite wore a vintage gown complete with eerie veil and Victorian lace train inspired by Miss Havisham from Great Expectations. And then last Halloween, she could have been mistaken for Oliver Twist’s Nancy, arm-in-arm with Camille Charrière, who was also decked out in a busty corset, lace gloves and feathers.
Then consider Soho on a Friday night, when the cobbled streets transform into a scene straight out of Nicholas Nickleby. Society types – including Lord Rupert Nevill’s granddaughter Rose Purbrick – descend upon Victorian pubs, adorned in Depop finery. ‘The Blue Posts is a favourite,’ says Rose. ‘It’s a mishmash of original Soho veterans and younger people.’ That includes women-about-town Lily Carr-Gomm and Georgia Stannard. Long live, too, the renaissance of The Dog and Duck, which opened in 1897 and where now Gen Z make TikToks, clad in Miu Miu stockings and Comme des Garçons bloomers. What’s more, The Bridge Hotel – the pub Dickens once stayed at while performing in Sunderland – is reopening, having closed in the late 1990s.
In short: Dickens is hotter than he’s ever been, socially speaking. So naturally, when I hear that there is a role-playing computer game entirely based around his life (and death), I want to get involved. It’s all thanks to the die-hard Dickens expert Dr Leon Litvack, a professor at Queen’s University Belfast, who has made it his mission ‘to get people involved with Dickens’s world in a different way’, he says. But why now? Mark Dickens, the author’s great-grandson, may tell me that ‘Dickens is always relevant. Everyone knows a Dickens character.’ But Dr Litvack has now made him modern: the game centres on AI conversations between the characters.
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It’s fitting: after all, the AI revolution is the 21st century’s answer to the Industrial Revolution – and Dickens was always ahead of his time. ‘Dickens could be considered the original influencer,’ says Dr Litvack. ‘After watching him perform readings of his work in London theatres to 4,000 people, many would write to him, and he’d reply.’ High-society types, including Angela Burdett-Coutts (of the banking family), the Countess of Blessington and former prime minister Lord John Russell were fans (and friends).
But back to the game. The mission? To recover the missing pages of The Mystery of Edwin Drood, the novel Dickens was working on just before his death and never completed. Not your average hack’n’slash game (World of Warcraft fans Viscount Aithrie and Ella Richards, look away), but a spooky scavenger hunt in the final home of Dickens. In pixelated form, my character sidles from room to room to talk to a variety of characters from the author’s life to find out where the lost pages are hidden.
I know, it sounds like a riot. Giddy with excitement – or perhaps it’s the port – I open my laptop and dive into the virtual world of Charles Dickens. I arrive at the author’s house, Gad’s Hill Place in Kent. My player is Mr Arthur Thompson – a young man in a yellow waistcoat and neckerchief – who has been sent from Chapman & Hall publishing house to retrieve the manuscripts.
In the game, it has been three days since Dickens died, so I am met with a sombre scene: eerie violins play from my PC’s tinny speakers and a woman is weeping on the stairs. She turns out to be – significantly – Georgina, the sister of Dickens’s estranged wife, Catherine. I sidle over to her in a robotic fashion and the interrogation unfurls in a series of awkward exchanges: ‘Who are you my dear?’ she asks, between tears. I tell her, and we share a brief but profound reflection on grief. Everyone in this game looks miserable: deep dark circles under their eyes, their drooping faces filled with sadness. It is a perturbing opposite to the Sims party land of my childhood.
The narrator tells me to ‘work courteously and in haste’. The house is going to be sealed after the impending funeral. The future of Dickens fans around the world depends on me; there is no time to waste. I virtually dash into the drawing room, where I’m greeted by a distressed-looking woman (there’s a lot of gloom around) who turns out to be Elizabeth Easdown, Dickens’s maid, and William Ward, a Victorian physician. Something is not right: the vibe is off. And soon I understand why: William wants to speak to the ghost of Dickens through the body of Elizabeth – in exchange for payment. She accepts, before retracting her offer: ‘It is gauche to ask for money.’ (How… Tatler.)
But I type out my reply and, with some persuasion, Elizabeth agrees. ‘Very well, I’ll do it.’ So William calls forth the spirit of Dickens: ‘Spirit! We name thee!’ (This feels like a game that society mystics Santa Sebag Montefiore and Tallulah Harlech might enjoy.) All of a sudden, Elizabeth transforms into the green-hued ghost of Dickens. He might be fresh from beyond, but I still ask him where his manuscripts could be. Dickens reveals a clue. This brings me to the library where I come face to face with… Death, in a black hooded cape, who informs me he can help me on my quest. Is it the port or am I winning the game?
I find the first manuscript and I feel drunk on power. But I can’t roam the corridors of Dickens’s house forever. I close my laptop, tear off my bonnet, and head out to Chiltern Firehouse, that glamorous converted Victorian fire station, perhaps to talk Great Expectations with Allegra. But my thoughts are still consumed by Gad’s Hill Place and Edwin Drood. Like Oliver Twist, I’m left wanting more. Perhaps I can challenge Ella Richards to a game…
This article was first published in the January 2024 issue, on sale now
